Showing posts with label fractures. Show all posts

In those split seconds after a fracture has happened I am in pain for two reasons:

Already? Again? I mean I know it's supposed to happen because you were born with this - but no one said anything about breaking in rapid successions.

Doctors and pamphlets only ever have phrases like "fragile.." "may have more than a hundred fractures before adulthood..." "bones are prone to breaks..." They don't ever say things like "after you break your femur because your elbow slipped off the desk and landed on it wrong... you will then break your other femur in some other random freak accident, five weeks later. Oh and you will be 13 years old. So while your friends are all experiencing growth spurts and changing shoe sizes every month, you'll be changing casts instead." No one ever says that to you. You're just supposed to realize that on your own. 

And I know that your parents told you about how you broke every month when you were a baby, but that was when you were much younger. That was back before you had any real memory, those fractures are filed away in the hospital's memory - they can be found in slides 1-58 in Volume I of Patient X-rays. Those are not burdens that you carry, so when your parents say things like "it's happening again..." you sit there silently wondering "but what's happening again? Does that make it any easier for you? For me?" And you'll realize, on your own, that the answer is no it doesn't make it any easier. Not really. This is when you realize how lucky you were, in a weird way, when you were much younger and have no recollection of what was going on. You'll realize the meaning of the saying ignorance is bliss. 
Perhaps this is when you start to think about how unfair things can be. You might even begin to think about how little choice it seems you might have, in the grand scheme of things. You didn't get to choose whether or not you'd get this particular gene mutation (because no one did). You didn't get to choose whether or not you'd break a bone in the middle of your favorite class (because why couldn't it have been math instead?). You didn't get to choose whether or not you'd break the same bone that had just healed two weeks later. And you certainly don't get to choose how long it takes before you are healed again. The list could go on about all the things that you didn't get to choose to do or have happen. Here's a secret though: It's the same thing for everyone, just a different set of choices they don't get to choose. 

But that's not what any of this is about - in the grand scheme of things. People don't brag about all the life choices they don't get to choose. People are not making lives and futures from the choices they had no choice in - progress is made from the decisions we do make. And then you'll realize that there are always options. For every choice you don't get to choose, there is at least one other choice that you do get to have the option to make. It's a one-to-one ratio. So for every bone that breaks we have the option of taking care of ourselves in order to heal faster. We have the option of continuing our day-to-day routine the best that we can. We have the option of learning from our mistakes. We have the option of now remembering what our body can and cannot do. We have the option of gritting our teeth and toughing it out. We have the option to decide that this is not going to be a reason to stop.

In the mean time just remember that doctors and pamphlets will always tell you things that you must know. That's really all the job of an "official authority" boils down to. They might not always tell you what you should know. That stuff you probably will have to realize on your own.

Be well,
Sandy

These incidents happened more than a handful of times, but not too frequently to make them a regular occurrence. But every now and then a fracture would happen and my parents couldn't get me to my orthopedic right away.
When these injuries happened it meant my parents would put a temporary brace or splint on the fractured area. They would help get me into a reclined position on my bed, keep my brothers from playing near me, put a stack of books and a bronze bell in case I needed anything near by. Going to sleep this way was the toughest part of the whole situation for me. Despite the temporary splints and braces, the fractures was still fresh and sensitive to any movement or the slightest touch. Fresh fractures also seem to be the breeding ground for muscle spasms, and though I wasn't physically moving it felt like my muscles were tripping the light fantastic till the break of dawn. I would go to sleep repeating in my head, "don't move in your sleep, don't move in your sleep, don't move in your sleep..." hoping that maybe I could teach my body that having brittle bones can be less painful if it would just understand: don't move. 


Eventually after drifting off and then jolting awake, and then slightly shifting my body weight, or itching a spot, or cracking my back, or ringing the bell for another glass of milk, or flipping the pillow over again -- I would fall asleep. Finally I would reach some sort of compromise between the fresh fracture and my body's clear exhaustion. Both would collapse across some invisible dotted line that stretched between Point A: Moment of Fracture to Point B: Moment of Healing. The two parties are completely zonked out, snoring, drooling, deep into la-la land - it translates into some rest for me.

And then morning would come. Usually I would try to wake-up before my parents awoke in an attempt to enjoy the calm before things started being moved around again. Even to this day, there is nothing I despise more and find more uncomfortable than a fresh fracture being moved. I hate it. I would rather repeat all of high school math than be moved around with a non-stabilized broken femur. Please, spare me. But that dreaded moment would come. When I got older, around middle school, I would tell myself it needs to get much worse before it gets much better. And that was the only thing that I kept in my head as I gritted my teeth while my parents, inch by inch:
Transferred me from the bed to the chair. And then from the chair to the toilet. And then from toilet back to the chair. From the chair to the car.. (all the while I am whimpering like a baby)... and on until we had arrived in the x-ray room, and are well on to making a little bit of progress towards Point B: Moment of Healing.

The mental and physical sensation of pain is always going to be overwhelming. What's more is that it's only ever going to be an overwhelming sensation that you can understand. You're the one who knows how big it is, how persistent it is, when it will appear, when it fades, why it comes, or when it goes. So with all of these facts in mind, what are ways that we can better manage the pain? There are a million pain management techniques and tips out there. There is only one that I have found that works, for me, every single time. Inch-by-inch and bite-sized pieces:
When I lay in bed with a fresh fracture thinking about how I need to somehow get from there into the car, and then onto the highway with all of its swerves and bumps - I will only want to curl up into bed and refuse to move. However, if I think - now I need to move 4inches over and into my chair. The pain seems far more bearable and less infinite. In fact, the pain becomes finite because soon I know I'll be able to say: now I need to move from my chair to the examination table so he can put the cast on and it's all done. Destination Point B: Arrived. 

There are a slew of things that I worry about on a routine basis: will that spider drop on my head and lay eggs in my ears while I'm sleeping? Will I stay employed? Will my wheel get stuck in the gap between the train and the platform? Will I get stuck in the elevator? Will my wheelchair suddenly break down? Will I find another gray hair in the morning?

Here are some other "But what if's" that I have:
What if I...

• Get into a car crash. Commercials that showcase a car's safety features with the billowing air bags that explode on impact into the face of a crash dummy freak me out. There should be no need for explanation as to why that is the case. 
• Am alone when I sustain a fracture. Seeing whether or not I can reach the highest cabinet in the kitchen by climbing on top of my wheelchair, and then swinging from the knobs on the cabinets is probably a bad idea.. but particularly if I am home alone. I am also not great about having my cellphone near by in case I need to reach 911.
• Start fracturing a lot again. I have heard that my 20's will probably be my most stable period in terms of physical health (especially for someone with type III). The frequencies of fractures has dwindled and I am able to put all my energy into life goals without being tripped up by healing time or bones breaking. I dread the day when the frequency of my fractures increase once again; I am afraid I will not be able to have the same stamina and energy as I did when I was a child.

1. Making sure a place is accessible. I have often wondered what it is like to just know that I will be able to access everywhere I want to go. These days we have online resources like 'Yelp' that will say whether or not a place is accessible but sometimes they are not always accurate and it's best to call ahead. A few times I haven't been sure if a potential place of employment is accessible; when this happens I have either gone to the place myself to 'scope it out' or simply asked AFTER I have gotten the date for an interview.

2. Reassure that I am 'old enough' over the phone. For the gazillionth time NO, I am not 7 years old and no my parents are not around to give permission for me to speak with you. Besides, what 7 year old do you know will ask for parental permission to call a bank in regards to her account statement?

3. Hold up the bus or train. It is usually a rush hour and there are about a thousand pair of eyes silently yelling at me to hurry up because I need to get to Point A 10 min ago. Meanwhile the driver of the bus or train is fumbling with the machine that lowers the ramp, or trying to strap my wheelchair in securely. Believe me, I love going fast as much as the next rush hour city dweller, so if I could bypass all of that logistical hassle I would!

4. Be nervous when I crack my joints. This seems ridiculous and silly but it is what it is. It wasn't until about 2 years ago when I discovered that I could crack my back without winding up in a body cast! In a weird way I was excited and probably acted like a baby just realizing how to hold their own head up. But in a broader and more general sense, I wish I didn't need to be nervous about potential injury whenever I do something as simple as cracking my knuckles or taking a clumsy fall. There is no such thing as 'clumsy' in my world, there's either "I fractured" or "I was lucky that time.."

In previous entries I have talked about what is going through my head as my body registers that a fracture has just occurred. But what is going on around me? Let's shift the camera lens to my mother --

Most of you already know that I am the only one in my family with O.I. When I was born my parents opted to not have the genetic testing (skin biopsy) to find out which side the gene was on. As a child my parents explained to me that knowing where the 'cause' of the O.I. came from didn't change whether or not I still had the condition, and I grew up being okay with that decision. I still am. I suppose that for the most part I am someone who would prefer to learn how to adapt, manage, or solve a situation as opposed to being curious about the origins of the problem. At the end of the day I go to bed still with the O.I. but I learn each day how to deal with it.

With that said, to my knowledge, I am a mutant. A genetic mutant. Growing up the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were wildly popular among kids and I loved them. (I even dressed up as one for Halloween.. the picture is somewhere..) Rafael, Michaelangelo, Donattelo, and Leonardo were my buddies and it wasn't just because they loved pizza as much as I did. Or taught me to say "cowabunga!" It was because they were the first to make being genetic-errors cool. They were mutants too, the closest thing I had to people who were 'like me.' They were my mutant role models.

When you're a child you lean on your family and parents to show you how to be a person. Everyone comes from some perspective, rules, ideals, values, culture, or some understanding of the world/society in which we live. It is through this construct that our parents and family raise us. If a child is black their family teaches them about what it's like to be black; if they are Eskimos a child is shown how to survive as an Eskimo; if a child is born into a family of politicians they quickly learn about life in public office. But when a genetic mutation happens it means this is a child that has something no one else in the family has. Who does the kid lean on? Who is going to tell the child about the perks or pitfalls? Who serves as the role model? Who is going to show him or her the ropes?
For me much of that was whatever I was surrounded by. Whether it was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Roald Dahl's Matilda or Wheels (the wheelchair character from the Burger King's Kids Club).. I learned early on that I couldn't expect my parents or family to have all the answers for me. Other kids might be able to go home and ask their parents why they don't celebrate Christmas and have a Christmas tree, but I couldn't go home and ask my parents "how do I tell my friend I can't go to her gymnastics themed birthday party?" Or "How do I tell my friend about what a genetic disorder is when we're only just beginning to learn the song 'heads, shoulders, knees and toes..knees and toes'?" Well I COULD ask them these questions, but I already knew they wouldn't be able to help. They just wouldn't get it. There were a lot of other situations where I was at a loss in. Who was going to show me how to dance in a wheelchair with that boy at the middle school dance? Who was going to teach me about wheelchair sports? What about all the politically correct and incorrect terms that differentiate a disabled and able-bodied person? How do you open doors with one hand and push with the other? What do you do if you can't reach something and no one is around? What happens if I break a bone and no one is around to help? I am sure that there are a lifetime of these situations that I could list, and I know that these are situations that I will continue to find myself in - questions that I will continue to discover answers for on my own.

There is no doubt in my mind that I wish I had met someone else with O.I., or someone else who used a wheelchair earlier on than I did. I think it would have made a lot of things easier for me, both logistically and socially speaking. But this doesn't mean that I resent the rest of my family for having missed out on this mysterious gene. When I was a kid and was fracturing more frequently (at least once every 4-6 months), when all of the commotion was done and I had gone home in my cast - I used to wish that at least ONE of my parents had O.I. too. Maybe that way they would have been able to warn me about how much it would hurt, or maybe that way they would know the most comfortable way to be picked up when you have a fracture. But no, instead as a kid I was always the one screaming my head off in the cast room -  crying because I didn't know it was going to hurt this much, and because I didn't know when it would stop, and because no one had shown me the way first. Maybe it would hurt less on that hospital table if I knew one of my parents had also felt the jagged burn that comes with a fracture... and then had grown up to raise a family, to have a life, to have survived the ordeals.
But these are thoughts that I would never allow myself to think too long on. I would immediately begin to feel guilty. What am I doing? Why would I wish this on anyone? Sure. It's true that I have managed and have done fairly well with my life, but that doesn't mean that I would want to put anyone through the same situation. Having non-disabled parents and family members is the only family that I've ever known, so of course I wouldn't trade them for anything! In some ways having unaffected family members has forced me to adapt earlier on, and to push myself to 'be like them' (and the majority of the rest of the world) as much as I am able to.

Here's a take away thought: Being a genetic mutant shouldn't just be limited to super heroes or medical labs. For me it's a way of life; it's a way of life that I do my best to live and it's not something that I think about constantly or even daily (or monthly). I live like anyone else does, I have the same questions and life challenges that you do, and in the mornings I put my pants on the same way that you do. After all of the differences that being a genetic mutant may come with - I would argue that there are a lot more similarities between me and the rest of the world than whatever lab tests may reveal, and that is how I continue to proceed.

In high school my power wheelchair didn't have a seat elevator. This meant that I had a tendency to climb on top of my wheelchair seat in order to reach a lot of things. Everything from getting books out of my backpack to pushing the higher buttons on the vending machine required creative acrobatic work. My arms are freakishly long and also have a super-power strength that the O.I. doesn't affect as much. (Probably it's because I use them so often and the muscle strength has made them stronger than any other part of my body... I haven't fractured my arms since elementary school!)

Anyway, I was forever climbing and clambering in and out of my wheelchair -- initially terrifying my friends and family but once they realized I had the monkey-acrobatics-routine down pat, they backed off. It was just the way I did things, and usually I jumped into this routine before anyone could ask "Sandy do you need help with the-- oh.. okay.. never mind.. I see that you got it.." 
Aside from being able to assert my independence and ability, I found it fun to be climbing in and out of my wheelchair. Being able to jump up and down every now and then gave my backside and legs some reprieve from the strict ninety-degree-angle sitting position that I was otherwise in for nearly 8+ hours of the day. I also enjoyed the creative problem-solving this act required. For instance being able to lug my 12lb Algebra II textbook out of my backpack required that I use my dominant hand to steady myself, and then my right hand to unzip my backpack, and then balance on my knees.. the point is, these situations presented themselves to me as problems only I would know how to best solve. Sure there were times when I would drop books on the floor, or nearly slip off my wheelchair -- but I always learned from my mistakes, always adapting to the situation and remembering to never leave my wheelchair turned ON when I was up and out of my seat..

But this post is actually not about a time when I fractured because I was doing one of my acrobatics. (Because I never have!)This post is actually about a time I fractured because I DID NOT do one of my monkey-bar-routines.

All of the water fountains at my high school were at least a few feet out of reach. And even when I could stand on my wheelchair seat, I couldn't figure out a way to steady myself while bending over, and pushing down on the lever to get a drink of water at the same time. To avoid that hassle I usually just trooped down to the nurse's office instead. Not only would I be able to miss a few more minutes of class, but she had candy, and she included ice for her water.
"Oh hey H! What are you doing?" A few times during my trips to the nurse's office I would bump into friends along the way.
"Not much just getting meds. What are you here for?"
"I just wanted a drink of water. With ice." 
"What class are you in?"
"Chem. It's boring and I don't understand what's going on and nor do I care." Mrs. B, the nurse, enjoyed having students in her office and she never rushed us out so I always took my time. She poured a cup of ice water into a cup and handed it to me.

In one hand I held the plastic cup, in the other hand I was steering the wheelchair's joystick, and with my head turned back I called out to my friend,
"Bye! I'll see you later in Choru-" 
"BANG" 
"Umm .. Sandy, that was the door frame.." The cup of water had sloshed all over the place, conveniently hitting all the awkward spots on my pants, my leg rest was all bent awry and my leg was throbbing out of place.
The nurse came rushing out of her office and came to look at the damage. Chips of paint had fallen off the door frame but she could immediately tell that my lower foot had been broken.

My friend H and I will laugh about my door frame incident now, but at the time it was totally the most uncool incident to have happened during my high school career. I mean, aside from the awkward water spillage parts...

What was YOUR lamest fracture incident?? Tell me. 

*Side Note: I'm not necessarily endorsing these ideas, they are just things that I have put down my cast. Repeat at your own risk!*

1. Ruler. The wooden ones with the metal or brass edge. Just enough of an edge to itch that impossible spot that always stirs me awake at 2:45AM and then every hour after that.. GOD DAMN IT!
2. Pen/Pencil/Marker. Because these are on the shorter side they are more effective tools to itch an arm or a short leg cast. The cylindrical shape, for me, doesn't tickle the bottom of my foot in an unbearably gigglish way whenever I resort to this technique. Be careful of tips breaking or losing the caps somewhere in that dark and itchy abyss.
3. Money. If you have an issue with spending you could always take matters into your own hands by stuffing your budget in there, 2-5 months later and you'll find that you're able to teach yourself self-control! Or if you were a six year old like me and was suspicious of whether or not the piggy bank actually just ingested it all on its own.... 
4. Coat hanger. Who says that coat hangers are only good for unlocking doors of a car? These suckers can hang that itch in no time! But be make sure you stash it somewhere safe so that your parents don't yell at you when they find a bunch of wrangled coat hangers under your bed. "It was for school..." doesn't exactly fly. 
5. Freeze chopsticks. I know this sounds really weird so before you go putting your judgy face on, let me explain! One summer I was stuck in a long leg cast and it was sweltering. Like most O.I. people I hate the heat and my body doesn't do well, having an extra 10 pounds of cotton and fiber glass certainly didn't help. I wanted to cool off but I couldn't get my cast wet... so I pilfered a few chopsticks and put them in the freezer, stuck those down my cast and it was instant relief! 
6. Cotton swabs. I don't know what possessed me to want to add MORE cotton in there but it happened. I put cotton swabs at the end of an un-sharpened pencil and in my mind it was like a soft plow, pushing away all that psycho itchiness somewhere deeper. 
7. Air. I have literally taken a hair dryer and aimed it down the cast. 
8. Makeshift hooks. I have bent paper clips out of shape and into the necessary hook form, then tied my 'creation' to shoelace or a string then literally tried to bait that scratch out into the open!
9. Medicine. Kids can be very innocently literal. I took my pain medication and decided to dump it down there because... well... that was where the pain & itch was! D'UH! 
10. Lego people. Don't ask, I don't know what I was thinking, don't tell my brothers. But yeah it happened. I think those miniature Lego figurines all hate me now. They've sent word throughout the rest of Lego Kingdom -- warning their brethren of the insane human who has suffocated so many of their fellow beings between skin and fiber glass. (Sometimes they come and haunt me in my dreams!) 

I never go far without my iPod these days and music has become a huge part of my daily routine. Though I will admit to missing out on a lot of actual interaction with people, and passersby - in many ways listening to music distracts me from the general stress of the day, or from my worries/concerns. It's just good down time for me because whenever I've got my ear buds in my brain is released from its gears and ceases its frantic spin. ...And if you haven't noticed by now, my brain is constantly in a state of frantic spin.

I don't remember the pain or even which bone I broke. I don't remember how old I was or if I had started school yet, (but I think I was in elementary school). I don't remember what the cast looked like or how long I was in it for. For that first fracture I ever remember, I only recall what I was doing:

Fracturing is terrifying because most of the time I do not expect it. Then when it happens it results in a sharp 3 to 6 week reminder (in a cast) of what my body isn't capable of doing: hey stupid - you shoulda known that would hurt! Some O.I.'ers may agree or disagree with me, but the next most terrifying thing for me is The Sneeze. Some of us will fracture ribs because we sneeze too hard. It's totally pathetic, I know.

It'll start with a tickle in my nose but it's the least funny thing in the world to me. Immediately I will get nervous, tighten my stomach muscles, tense up my shoulders and then wait. Sometimes if I feel like it might be a particularly big sneeze I'll draw in a big breath and if I'm lucky it will come out like a stifled cough.

A few days ago, on the facebook wall, I asked what the worst bone to break was for people. For me it is any rib - which is odd because I don't even count them as "real" broken bones. They aren't a 'big' deal and are never traumatic fractures for me but they are, nevertheless the worst. Ribs are difficult if not impossible to put a cast or a brace on. And no matter how I move I never seem to be able to get comfortable, unlike if I broke an arm or a leg - the cast aides the broken limb by stabilizing things or making it immobile. With ribs I am suddenly walking on eggs within my own already fragile body. I am afraid to breathe in too deeply, to laugh, to twist, to bend, to shift, or reach up too high (and for someone who is dependent on the use of her arms.. this can be incredibly limiting).
Sure there are medications that I am prescribed but these never seem to take the edge off for long. There is tylenol with codeine or valium and other muscle relaxants - but even when muscles are relaxed moving the wrong way even one centimeter still brings a sharp jab to my side. But I haven't been totally honest, I haven't said why, exactly, breaking a rib is the most annoying fracture for me:

It's because with a broken rib, I am constantly reminded of the O.I.

With a broken arm or a leg, even despite a 5lb+ cast being lugged around - after a few weeks I can get used to it. The fiber glass fades to the background and I adjust quickly to my 'normal' routine again. After a few days with a cast on my arm or leg I don't have to think about how to transition to the toilet or bed, or in which position to sleep in that will be most comfortable for me at night. Even after a few days the pain will fade and the muscle spasms will stop. Not so much with a rib fracture. With a fractured rib I sometimes forget that anything is broken, I'll go to push myself up in my wheelchair and then double over in shock from the pain. Or I'll have to push myself around the house in increments of a few inches of distance at a time, stopping every now and then to take a few rapid short breaths. Broken ribs are annoying because they make me feel as though I am constantly tripping over a symptom of O.I., as opposed to living and seamlessly meshing it into my life.

Fractured Ribs:

• I have found that hugging a pillow against myself helps to relax my body and make the broken rib feel more comfortable
• If you find yourself needing to lift a child or someone with a broken rib - I would strongly suggest doing the cradle style pick-up instead of lifting under the arms
• Be sure that those around you know that you have broken a rib. I dread telling people that I broke a bone, but I have found that especially if it's an 'invisible fracture' giving people a heads up can be extremely helpful
• Once you find yourself in a comfortable upright seated position, try your best to remember it and be cautious with it. Jostling around too much with an unstable fracture can get dangerous!
• Don't try to be a hero, if it hurts take the pain medication
• Many OI'ers have learned to 'play around' with their breathing until they find the right depth of breath to take in order to not cause pain to the rib while still getting enough air - it will sound weird but it's totally necessary to do!

Continued from previous post

Sometimes it can be a few minutes, at worse it will be days. But the moments between a fresh snap of bone and stabilizing it are excruciating. If I could map out a linear graph of the pain in those moments it would be absolutely spastic. I would draw a row of shark teeth and then a random plateau amongst the daggers.
My mother never looks directly at me when I first have a fracture, she first looks at where and what I'm holding. She always seems to use her X-Ray Mother Vision to pierce through my grip of the injured area. With every last cubic inch of muscle I have I pore it all into two places at this point: 1. my eyes 2. the hold on my femur. There is nothing that could escape the wild pained look of my eyes during this moment. I am aware of how many centimeters the bed has sunk as my mother shifts her weight next to me, I am aware of how she has opened the splint in her hand, I am aware of my dad standing by silently looking on - all of these thoughts are calculated into my head in preparation. To get myself ready for: The First Positional Move.

As I wait for someone to get the proper medical equipment to stabilize a fracture it might look as though I am just lying there whimpering. But I'm not. I have first tried to internally shift the muscles and my body into a position where the pain is bearable, careful to not relax or tighten muscles too quickly or slowly; then it's my breathing - it has slowed but is still nervous and unsteady, like an infant's unsteady first wobble. Most of the time I have managed to stop sweating, my body and skin cooling off but I know this only lasts for a few minutes until the broken limb is moved.
Now my mother looks at me. Her face is blank each time, blank with the determination and readiness of a runner at the start line. That is the face she puts on just before The First Positional Move. Her face is the canvas that this particular fracture's pain will be visualized, it will be reflected as she winces with me and says "ow" along side me. She and my doctor always let me help to hold the broken limb, especially during The First Positional Move. This time it's my femur and as she cradles the palm of her hand beneath my lower leg and knee the upper half of my entire body tenses. I try to ready myself and even, if possible, recall the pain from a previous fracture - as if to use my memory as a kind of buffer for the real thing. I squeeze my face and shut my eyes, and after she says "2,3, go.." I hold my breath as she slips the old splint underneath my leg and puts the velcro straps across it. My body once again returns to a state of frantic cooling off, of an unsteady gait-like breathing.

When the limb is first stabilized the transition into the car or ambulance is not as painful. It's uncomfortable in comparison to the rest of The Positional Moves - and there are countless others. The varying x-ray positions, the first time that old splint gets taken off for a new cast, when pants are slow-wiggled n' slid off, then the screaming and the crying begins again. But even in this time as the cast sock is slid on, and the endless rolls of cotton is slowly wrapped around and around, my fingers have barely budged from the position. My doctor and mother follow my lead, but their directions are given in the form of every cringe of my nose bridge or breath held and eyes closed.
The next part is my favorite. Yes, I have a favorite part of the whole fracture stability process - I'm an odd duck I know. But when the cast technician dips the wrap into the warm water I am finally able to breathe regularly again, almost, in a sense to return to my groove. And all of the chaos inside of me that resulted from the havoc that was wreaked is magically restored as the warmth and heaviness of an assured bandage takes over for me.

This'll be a 3-part entry where I 'walk through' the process of fracture management. Just a reminder: these are techniques I have used in the past and from trial & error have learned that they work for me. My suggestions that usually come at the conclusion of each entry will be at the end of the final part in this series.
--
At this point I have long forgotten what it was I was trying to reach for, but I remember I was alone in my room and everyone else was busy being together. Sitting in my rigid pink manual wheelchair I squirmed my way into a kneeling position in the seat, then grabbed the arm rests on either side and pushed myself slowly up to a stand. First I reached out with my right hand, the weaker one, and shifted more weight onto the left side of my body. When my fingers gripped the shelf I moved my left hand over and grinned to myself. I could finally see The Top Shelf, the one where all my older brother's "cool things" were kept. These "cool things" were never actually defined to me, I just knew there were things up there that I wanted to know about. After I had satisfied my curiosity and searched enough amongst the mysterious depth of The Top Shelf I could feel my legs and arms getting tired, it was time to sit back down. That's when it happened.
The moment happened while I was mid crouch, one leg was bent and the other was just about to fold neatly beneath me but instead a mess spilled forth. Many of you have experienced this disaster, it's oddly contained but wreaks havoc in that area, like the epicenter of an earthquake. The reverberations could be felt as it spread around my femur, throwing my psyche into a sprawling and flailing helpless thing - completely unlike the usual calm and mischievously quiet it usually is. Soon the ripples crept up my throat in a frenzy and the numbness that rooted itself in the crack had found a voice in my scream.
I stayed in that mid action position even though it hurt, but it hurt even more if I budged even the slightest. In those moments I am certain that the only muscle that won't hurt a fracture are the muscles that make a smile. But try to tell anyone to smile in that moment, and you tell me how they respond. My dad was the first one into my room, the first look he gave me and he knew the whole story. He grabbed me under the arms and as my body collapsed into his huge hands my hands gripped the slowly waking monster in my thigh. I tried to keep it calm, to keep the monster from bursting out of my skin. I always fail in this struggle and even at that age I knew it would be hopeless, but I try to grip anyway, I tried to hold everything together.
Dad put me on my bed and didn't have to ask questions. My entire body was contorted towards my left side, it didn't take long for me to start sweating - this only made me try to grip harder as I didn't want my fingers to slip. Since I don't have children of my own I don't know what it's like to watch your child in agony, but I do know that what sounds like static screams to others speaks the hard truth to a parent's ears. It was rare for my parents to ever have to ask me "what happened?" They somehow always just knew.
By this point my mother had rushed upstairs and opened my "cast closet" the closet that held every spica cast, splint, sling, and ace bandage that had ever touched my body. After she found the necessary one she ran downstairs and nudged my dad aside. I whimpered as she edged closer to me and in that pathetic sound I was telling her that it would hurt to move, she understood and slowly knelt down.

Happy Fracture Free Friday everyone!
This will be the first of many more 'Fracture Free Friday' posts. These entries will take the time to mention a few things/people that I am thankful for because I am fracture free this Friday. I also will use this post to share some flashbacks from my childhood, some will be fond memories and others will be not so fond memories. The point of these entries is to help us all take some time to reflect on goals and accomplishments we have achieved this week, and even in our lifetime!
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Lately it's been raining and feeling like the kind of weather that sneaks in between October and November. My entire body has been aching and as I'm wondering if this is what it's like to feel 100 years-old I'm thankful to not be traveling in this weather with a cast. There is something about sitting in a wet wheelchair that is already miserable. If you catch me in a downpour I will be racing to the nearest public bathroom not because I need to go really badly, but because I want to dry off and will sit underneath the automatic hand dryer machines for as long as necessary. When I was younger I used to wish that I could be like Inspector Gadget and say "go go gadget 'brella!" And out would pop an umbrella from my wheelchair .... someone out there, get on that! But traveling in rainy weather with a cast can be even more annoying. The hassle of plastic bags, or sometimes when you forget about the plastic bag the cast itself may get wet - then you're stuck itching like crazy, or you may end up covered in baby powder in the attempt to dry off. If it's an arm that's in a cast the trouble with raincoats and ponchos can be that the arm-hole may never be large enough or angled correctly to get your arm through. I always felt like a lopsided bird whenever this would happen, kind of awkwardly nudging my wheelchair along with one hand as I grab onto walls and rails to pull myself along.

Speaking of getting around, when I was younger I had one of three ways of getting around the house: 1. my manual wheelchair 2. the scoot-shuffle-crawl method 3. my tricycle. I loved my tricycle. It was the only pink colored thing I have ever loved and probably will ever love. I would race around the house going on epic adventures that could only be seen in my head. The trike had an electric button that when pressed would make the front piece light up and make this awesome sound that quickly died from over-use. Even when the lights and sound effects became muted forever I would still push the button and create my own sound effects. Around that time I was also watching Star Trek with my older brother; does anyone remember the phrase "beam me up Scotty" ?? I would be zooming back to my own version of the starship base - typically this would be when my mom started yelling at me about god only knows what.

I don't do this with strangers often so you should feel privileged to see a picture of me when I was much younger. But I hope the above blurb reminds us of the distance and adventures we have all traversed whether imaginary or real.

That's me, riding on the back of a jet ski on Lake Mousam in Maine.

• Get a medical bracelet that says Osteogenesis Imperfecta “brittle bones” disease on it
• If you’re flying, call the airline in advance to make sure that your wheelchair or other medical devices fit their requirements. (Airlines have alley chairs to transport disabled people to and from the seat to the gate).
• One of the best ways for people with OI to exercise is by swimming! Water parks, hotels with pools, amusement parks with water rides, and beaches can be enjoyed by everyone in the family. (Ask your doctor about water proof casts in the case that you have a fracture).
• It’s safest to take your most reliable wheelchair to travels. Experiencing wheelchair malfunctions or breakdowns can be risky when you are far from home and or your health care provider.
• If necessary, call the hotel/motel and ask about accessible bathrooms and poolside assistance